


Mudroom

by v_xiii



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Longwinded Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nothing is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Torture Porn, emphasis on the hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-09-30 18:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17228891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_xiii/pseuds/v_xiii
Summary: An excerpt from Red and Purple’s time spent as hostages.





	1. Chapter 1

Something flies past his head, embedding into the tree trunk beside him; A small brightly colored dart which he’s close enough to see contains a small fluid pouch, clearly intended to be administered to the unfortunate target in its path.

“You might want to run.”

He does, taking off into the dense dead brush. What he sprints through was likely considered a proud forest once, but the organic sweep and subsequent climate destruction surely doomed it soon after. The organic sweep he and Purple had ordered themselves. He still remembers looming over their innumerable subjects aboard the Massive, booming the command while Purple rose clenched fists to the air. Both sick with power.

But now, layers of long dead plant matter crunch beneath his bare feet- leaves, fallen branches, shredded bark, shrubs and brambles. Above him towers a canopy filled with the skeletal remains of great trees, and what branches managed to cling to the trunks. All was blanched a sickly gray, contrasted only by the deep browns and blacks of rot coating the forest floor.

Without foliage it would be difficult to find somewhere secure. Secure. Internally he scoffs at the thought, how could he be? Naked, vulnerable, already fatigued, without any clear way to survive on this husk of an unfamiliar planet- all without Purple by his side. But still he runs, because the hell he found himself in every waking moment was still worth fleeing, even if escape meant sure death. He only wishes for a chance to say goodbye to Purple- his copilot, coregent, the smeet and then soldier that always had his back, the one he could always count on for a scathing comeback, and _brother_ above all else deserved that at least.

He slows, finding his feet had carried him a great distance while he mused, and finally gives his body a chance to recover from the dead sprint and run. Meanwhile he surveys the landscape for something, anything that could be left to shelter him. Though drained of some color by fatigue, his pale green skin surely stuck out as a perfect target among the glum surroundings, and he currently finds himself in a clearing; Thicker layers of bramble and forest up ahead, extending behind a crater that was once a lake to the right, sparse smatterings of trees on his left...

“Ah!” Three short stabs of pain stop him in his tracks. He stumbles but catches himself before falling. He whips around for a moment, confused.

“Got him!”

“Me too!” Whoops and hollers go up in all directions behind him.

“Shit!” He sets off sprinting once more- on a diagonal this time, realizing he’s foolishly come this far in a straight line.

He hisses with each footfall, “Shit, shit, shit-” Something bounces off his PAK.

Red curses himself now for not moving faster- maybe they never would have spotted him. No, they probably stalked him from the beginning without allowing him a head start- never the type to play fair. As he rushes toward that denser wood he takes the time to duck behind every tree in passing, to put anything he can between himself and his pursuers. Some still land lucky hits; one in his left arm, two on his right shoulder, one more in his back. Many more fly past his head, spurring him on.

The thicker cover brings him little comfort. Fueled by adrenaline alone he continues through the skeletons of high shrubs and trees, sometimes pushing or snapping limbs aside, earning him cuts all over his hands. The only advantages he has are his lithe form allowing him to slip under and through tiny passages, and the quickly setting sun behind him.

 

* * *

 

Where was he going? Where could he hide with them trailing so close behind? His lungs have long since started to burn with exertion. The darts in his back laced with some kind of sedative start to work- As dark falls he’s broken out in a cold sweat, limbs heavy and numb. His pulse quickens, though that could be due to once faint hollers again growing louder behind him. Realizing there’s no hope of outrunning them any longer- not that he was so optimistic as to think that was ever an option- he seeks a place to hide.

He considers one of those great trees ahead, splintered a quarter of the way up the trunk and fallen on its side. Somewhere in his bleary mind Red notes that was probably the work of lightning. By the time he reaches this refuge his pulse is hammering in his head, deafening him, and feels as though his next breath could be the one that finally pops his lungs. He hurdles over a large unbroken section of trunk, finding when he falls sprawling on the other side he can’t pick himself up; limbs too heavy to move, unable catch his breath. But the forest floor is surprisingly comfortable, layers of dead matter cradling and cushioning his body. It must have rained recently, the deeper layers feel soft and cool against his skin.

He’s fallen on his side, and forgets the darts still stuck in his back. He forgets everything as a fog settles over his mind.

 

* * *

 

"Look who it is!” Red awakens to a mocking singsong voice and a kick to the spooch. They stand over him as he gasps, form silhouetted by the blinding light of a sun behind them. “Over here! Found him!”

They lean back down, grinning, “You gave us quite the hunt, I probably looked through here twice before seeing you.” They turn Red over with their boot to lie face first in the leaves, and he doesn’t resist. His mouth has never been so dry in his life, nor have his limbs felt so much like lead. He’s vaguely aware of a feeling like pinpricks on his back and shoulders, and the footfalls of others approaching them.

“Four! I’m first, enjoy using my cum as lube!”

“I found him, that must count for something.”

A scoff. “Well, you can’t put a leash on your pet after it’s run away, can you?”

“Lets go, second or not I want to claim my prize.” Red is hoisted out of his comfortable earthen bed and unceremoniously thrown over someone’s shoulder, long limbs dangling limp as a ragdoll. One grasps his antennae and pulls his head up so they’re face to face- but he’s too fatigued to even cry out in pain, let alone focus his vision.

“Your brother is waiting for us.” They let go and his head easily falls against the back of the one carrying him.

Lulled into nothingness by their steady pace, Red falls unconscious once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not read on if you’re a minor and/or disturbed by depictions of sexual assault. I’m actually begging you.
> 
> To the filthmongers like me: buckle up.


	2. Chapter 2

Upon the party’s return Purple is tasked with cleaning and organizing the ‘hunting’ gear, all shed and dumped in a heap at the door in their haste to play with their prize. In the large sink he works quickly to scrape and scrub thick layers of dirt from boots and tools, the dart guns used to mark Red. He shakes the dust and leaves from heavy coats, prepares to oil the leather of their belts, shoes, holsters. 

On the table behind him his brother lies prone, pulled to the edge so his legs hang off the side and his anatomy is on full display. They’ve surround him like beasts of prey, taking turns playing with their catch. One will hold Red’s head and roughly fuck his mouth, while another grasps his bottom to pound him much too hard. Red is torn between trying to stop one from choking him and begging the other to slow down, but every time he manages to pull away for a breath another forces themselves into his mouth before he can protest. He finds others grabbing at his hands to make him fondle them. Occasionally he gets out a yelp of pain, when one yanks his head back by the antennae- an unnecessary reminder that another was eager to use him: _ time’s up, my turn,  _ they squabble like children over a new toy.

Red is chastised when he inevitably vomits, “You should be used to this by now.” He’s slapped while trying to catch his breath, coughing and sputtering, and used rougher as punishment when another forces their way past the seam of his lips.

And like this Purple diligently works, with Red’s gags and coughs and pained noises echoing in the room and in his head.


	3. Chapter 3

Purple hangs the last coat in its place, neatly places the matching boots beneath it, all four sets of gear likely just as clean as the day they were bought. He closes the cabinet and is dismayed to realize there is nothing left to distract from his brother’s assault. Not that he is concerned for himself in the least, but he knows Red all too well and knows he would prefer if Purple never saw a moment of his humiliation. Weeks into this violence and he’s still more mortified of spectators, witnesses to him being stripped of dignity, than afraid of the torture itself.

Such pride. Purple was more of a wrathful individual, another reason he didn’t care to watch. He found it impossible to restrain himself from attacking Red’s torturers from time to time, which only earned Red worse punishment in the long run. Anyway, what was that saying? Pride goeth before the fall? Where had he heard that before?

Somehow he’s startled when Red lets out a cry behind him.

Mind no longer wandering, Purple quietly moves to stand in a corner, hoping the last one left in the room and currently taking their turn with Red won’t notice him there, staring at his own feet. If not instructed to do so Purple won’t watch the spectacle for so long as a second, for both their sake.

Had he looked up, and seen Red’s current state, he wouldn’t have been able to keep that wrath swallowed down;

The last is seated in one of the chairs stroking themselves in anticipation, watching the remnants of the previous three drip from Red’s body- who is left to lower himself onto their lap, accomplished a bit too fast with his legs so weak and body fully prepared. He cries out, and they groan with long awaited satisfaction. His height means the chair sits at an awkward level for his long legs- he ends up with them dangling uselessly, tops of his feet scraping the ground, all his weight centered squarely on his rapist’s lap.

“Mmm… I don’t mind waiting for you. Then you’re mine as long as I want.” Red’s shuddering, shaky breaths making for a pleasant sensation around them. Mercifully they allow him to cope with the unbearable fullness until his breath slows, and trembling subsides. They kiss what parts of his neck and chest they can reach, sucking the skin around mutters of praise. Red remains occupied with finding the most tolerable position possible, given the circumstances. His claws grip their shoulders in an attempt to take some weight off of his seat-  he subtly moves his hips, adjusts lanky legs. Red slowly lets his body relax against theirs, too exhausted to be more defiant.

Their hands appear as if from thin air to touch and grope him hungrily- starting with his thighs, moving to squeeze his backside, wandering up and down his back. Red grips onto fistfulls of their shirt, white knuckled, but remains placid. He’s already fought and suffered too much in one night, and to be touched like this almost feels kind. That thought is interrupted when they bounce Red on their lap, hands still grasping his bottom tight.

“You’re gonna ride me ‘till you come.”

Red’s throat tightens, Tallests before, he just wanted them to finish and leave like the others. A sudden slap in the face spurs him into motion. At first Red is pained and unsure in his movements, but they hook their fingers inside him and the awful pressure builds until-

“This is what you’re for, oh…” Red is rocking in their lap, back and forth, moans growing more loud and lewd by the moment.

“You were made to be fucked, you’re so good, so good-“ A line of slaver hangs from Red’s agape mouth, when they yank his head back by the antennae it falls into their flush laps.

“Come for me, come for me.” The chair squeaks as Red shifts his weight, pulls himself forward to put more pressure in his seat, to grind harder and harder against the fingers working in him. Anything to release the heat filling his belly.

Red’s climax is announced with a gasp. Both their hips and bodies remain pressed together as Red tightens around the intrusions still inside. Moans and pules escape him with the rhythm, the tight grip he’s assumed on their shoulders mirroring involuntary tensing. Another rope of saliva rolls from his open mouth while he pants, falls to his chest before snapping and leaving residue against his chin. The rapist surrounds his body in a suffocating embrace, again placing kisses and bites all over Red’s shoulders while his orgasm subsides.

When Red finally opens his eyes he’s horrified to see his brother there, standing directly behind them- arms clasped stiff behind his back, antennae flat, staring at the ground. Red averts his own gaze and hangs his head, ashamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I envision this whole fic taking place in a specific room from one of my childhood friend’s houses, it was a mudroom off the garage yet a full eat-in kitchen… rich people am I right? Yes I’ve had this specific scenario rattling around my head for 10+ years now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for the ...creative grammar.

They rise still inside Red; hold him by the buttocks and carry him, legs dangling, to lay on the table one more.

“Lie down.” Red obeys, back arched unnaturally with his PAK coming to rest on the table. The rapist runs their hands up and down Red’s body, along his protruding chest, trailing a finger down his midsection to thumb the slight bulge in his belly.

“You,”

Purple doesn’t look up, but knows he’s being spoken to, “Yes? Sir?” He’s hesitant to add the last word.

“Come here.”

So he goes to them obediently, looks from the floor immediately to the assailant's eyes when addressed. He doesn't linger on Red, laying there prone between them.

They finally void Red with an ugly groan, who lets a weak noise slip past his own lips. They waste no time pushing his legs apart to provide Purple with a clear view of what leaves his brother’s body. They grin, satisfied.

“Look, how he’s such a good slut,” they carelessly press two fingers into Red, pushing some of the mess back into him, illustrating how his body gives way from hours of use. They beckon Purple closer with the same hand slick with residue, grab his wrist, and fold two of their own fingers over his spindly digits. Together the four are pushed into Red with all the same restraint as before, none at all, and make Red wail more from shame than the pain. More of the mess spills from his body, tinged green, and coats their fingers.

“See?”

Purple nods so subtly it’s almost undetectable. His face doesn’t betray the twisting of his guts, or pulse hammering in his throat. He pulls his hand away the moment their grip loosens, and absentmindedly wipes the mess on his robes.

“Clean him up for me.” A command. They don’t notice Red look away, hands covering his eyes as if he could hide himself right there splayed out on the table.

While they casually take a seat beside Red’s head, Purple positions himself between his legs hanging limp over the edge of the table. Purple’s breath at the crux there is enough to make Red whimper, overwhelmed, humiliated. Purple is more concerned with the deep angry green his brother’s flesh is, evident of too much friction for such sensitive skin, and the strong coppery scent of Irken blood that wafts from him.

Purple closes his eyes, leans in, and drags his tongue along his twin’s shame. Red flinches at the touch, “Tallest- oh, Tallest.”

But the sharp taste of the others’ remnants takes Purple aback, turns his spooch so he has to pull away for a moment. When he looks up again they’re staring at him expectantly.

“Go on,”

So Purple grasps Red’s thighs, steels himself, and resumes. He tries not to ponder what flows forth from Red’s body, what he obediently laps up and swallows. All he’s concerned with is getting the act over with fast, so they’ll leave, and Red can finally rest- Purple is certain a night spent in the dead woods was enough of a torture already.

Purple is so preoccupied with his thoughts he hardly notices Red’s hips twisting and jerking, he just tightens his grip on Red’s legs to coax him back down against the table, flush with his open mouth. His eager mouth, Purple makes completing this awful task his mission and intends to carry it out quickly.

“Uh, ok, I think I got it all.” Purple sits back when he believes his task to be complete, wipes his mouth clean with the back of a hand.

“Keep going, he was enjoying it.” He looks up, confused, until he sees them stroking Red’s face kindly. They mutter under their breath, “You’re gonna come for me one more time.”

Tentatively Purple resumes once more, and immediately Red moans, voice laden with something more than desolation.

“You, put your fingers in him, like I showed you.” He slowly pushes two spindly digits into Red, equally intrigued by the smooth wet feeling of his insides and his physical response: louder, longer moans fill the otherwise quiet room.

“Hook your fingers, rub.” Purple does so, all the while continuing to lick at either side of Red’s cloaca walls, suck at the hood, curiously tasting the whole of his twin.

“You like that?”

Somewhere above him a voice is breathing, “Yes, yes-”

Red seems to respond to that best- So Purple concentrates his efforts on rubbing small circles far inside Red, fingers as deep as he can get them, at the same time he alternates between sucking and licking at every nook and fold.

”You can put your hands on him, there, let him know how well he’s doing…” trembling hands alight on top of Purple’s head, pulling and rubbing gently at his antennae

when Red hums approval Purple hollows his cheeks and sucks harder, works his fingers faster. When his hand cramps, he resumes licking and kissing the whole of Red’s cloaca, forcing his tongue deep in lieu of digits.

Soon Red is writhing freely, grabbing his twin’s antennae a bit too hard, head tossing in the lap of his rapist.

Red’s thighs close in on Purple’s head, squeezing him “Legs open, look here. Show me how good that feels...”

”Look at me when you come, look at me…”

Red reaches down to abruptly grab his brother by the back of the head, forcing Purple’s mouth flush against his crotch and his tongue deeper still. With this he cries out and rolls his hips against Purple’s face, who eagerly accepts his orgasm, stroking Red’s thighs and lapping up all the wetness from inside him- finding it best that this taste be the last on his tongue.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently half the internet & my computer thinks ‘slaver’ in the sense of drooling isn’t a word. Which I do NOT accept.

“I always knew you loved this. But enough to make you come twice?” Red writhes beneath their scrutiny, and their hands. One holding his face so he can’t look away, while the other snakes down between his legs to toy with him.

“Fucking filthy. You wanted this after all, didn’t you? Say it.”

Red swallows, trying to salvage his strained voice, “I-I wanted it.”

“Look at me. Again.”

He meets their gaze, “I wanted this.”

“Again” Red doesn’t respond fast enough, so they lean over to cuff his still-flushed cloaca. He cries out, the sting amplified by overstimulation.

“I wanted it!”

They seem to suddenly have an idea, turning to Purple, “You, get my belt.” He scrambles from his place at the end of the table to the cabinet he organized not an hour ago, grabbing the belt rolled up neatly beside their boots. Despite being freshly oiled, the rich dark leather is rough and cracked with age. The heavy brass buckle swings freely as Purple hands it to them.

They loop it in their hand, creating a short stiff length, and violently bring it down on the table beside Red’s head.

_Crack!_

Both Red and Purple startle, neither expecting such a violent sound.

“Oh, that will do fine.”

When Purple realizes what they’re intending to do with this makeshift whip, he protests: “No! Wait, don’t-”

they point to him, brandishing the weapon, and growl through their teeth, “You stay there.”

They turn back to Red once more, and this time he is wide-eyed, terrified. With good reason; Before Red can beg for mercy they bring it down between his legs and this time, he screams. They smile at this, the reaction they wanted.

Rubbing the rough material against his crotch, kindly for now, they demand again, “Say it.”

“I wanted it, I wanted this.”

_Whip_

“What?”

“I wanted it!”

_Whip_

“Is this what you deserve?”

“Yes! Yes- I deserved this!”

_Whip_

“I deserve it- I’m a defect!”

_Whip_

By now Red is wailing, sobbing, beside himself- overwhelmed by the torture seemingly without end. He moves to close his legs and they bring the scourge down on his thigh so hard it rips a long laceration on his skin. Red shrieks again.

“Legs open!” Red is struck harder and harder, they continue to break skin and draw blood that runs to mix with the ejaculate from four others and his own and reduce him to a writhing pity. He’s beaten mercilessly, until he screams upon his own volition;

“I’m disgusting, filthy, I deserve it- ‘m a defect, I’m nothing! I deserve this! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please-”

“Good boy.” Apparently satisfied, they abandon the belt to once again gently rub Red’s bloodied cloaca.

“M’sorry, I’m sorry. I deserve all of this-”

“I know, you do. But you’ll be good for me now won’t you?”

Red’s responses are clipped, stopped in his throat by his own ragged breath, “Yes- oh yes. Yes I swear-” They continue to idly grope Red, insinuating the worst by moving from their seat and positioning themselves between his legs once more.

“You’re so pretty when you cry.”

Red stares up at them, eyes glassy and wide, “Wait, please, not again. I can’t-” Another hard slap between his legs cuts him off.

“You just said you would be good.”

Red whines in such an awful, desolate way when they force a finger into him that Purple is impelled to bargain on his behalf;

”Please stop this, he’s so tired” He closes the gap between himself and their assailant, confident enough in desperation to approach with his hands up near his chest, palms forward- diplomatically, a gesture of non-resistance.

“Just let him rest a while,” He abandons subtlety, kneeling before them. Imploring, “I’ll suck you off myself, anything you want. Please stop hurting him.” They seem to consider the offer for a moment, reaching down to stroke Purple’s face kindly. Just as he begins to steel himself for the task they shove him away, hard enough that he stumbles and falls backward.

“Don’t move again, or he’ll get the buckle end too.” When Purple finally nods in defeat they turn back to Red with a look that can only be described as hungry, and spread his legs once more.

 

* * *

  
”Please, no, no-” Red wails, slurs strings of pleas; eyes half lidded from fatigue, slaver rolling down his chin. They pull one of his legs up over their shoulder, the pain from such a jarring movement cutting off his plea.

“Purple make them stop,” They grip his waist to push themselves past the barrier of his body in one hard drive.

“Gentian help me, make them stop, I don’t want this. Help me, please!” They find their rhythm, thrusts punctuating Red’s begging with gasps and cries.

They never told Purple not to speak. In Irken, so they can’t understand, he does his best to soothe Red, “This is it, the last thing they want to do. Endure this Safranin, and you can rest. It will be alright, I promise.” Even from where he’s seated below them, despite their careless thrusts into Red that jar his whole body, Purple recognizes a nod from his brother.

Purple recites encouragement until they grow annoyed enough to command, “Shut up.”

Then all he can do is sit and wait. And listen, to Red’s claws scraping along the table looking for purchase at the edges, trying to steady himself as they become arrhythmic and even more forceful when they near. Their last few thrusts again elicit sharp cries from Red, but he can, and he does endure because mercifully this must be the end-

Finally, it is- When they bellow an ugly moan, grip Red’s leg and waist tight enough to leave bruises, and finish deep inside him.


	6. Chapter 6

They hum with satisfaction and slowly drag themselves in and out as their arousal fades, thoroughly enjoying every moment of this and every inch of Red’s body.

Red takes the time to even out his breathing, swallow down the bile in his throat, attempt to wipe away the tears and saliva drying on his face. Anything to distract himself while they finish masturbating with his body. He grimaces when they finally void him, the feeling of emptiness almost unnatural after being used so long and hard.

“You really were made for this, such a good fuck.” They idly rub his thighs, afterglow still clouding their mind and making them sleepy and slow. They lean in to plant a kiss on Red’s belly, right above a bleeding laceration made with their own belt. Red flinches, and they chuckle. 

Finally they straighten, tuck themselves back into their pants, and turn to leave- without casting so much as a glance in Purple’s direction, who still sits obediently where instructed.

“Clean this mess up.”

The moment the door clicks shut behind them Red seizes the opportunity to slide off that accursed table, “Ah-!” He stumbles, legs shakier than anticipated. He manages a few wobbly steps toward Purple who rises to meet him. Before either speaks, an audible

_Drip, drip_

Catches their attention. Both look down at the mess finally leaving Red- a disturbing sight- opaque fluid tinged with green running down his legs, while some falls in droplets and puddles beneath him.

Purple quickly sits Red down beside him.

Red clears his throat, straightens his back, trying to preserve the last shreds of his dignity. He wipes at his eyes, trying to disguise the fact that they’re welling with new tears, pulse pounding harder and harder in his throat. 

“Purple I’m ok- I’m-” his already strained voice hitches, and Purple sees right through Red’s bravado, as he always has. Purple gently takes hold of his brother’s face, his brother; bloodied, exhausted, overstimulated, eyes still wide an glassy despite the fact that they’re alone.

Maybe because they are finally alone Red’s body immediately betrays him- and looking into the kind eyes of his brother for only a moment makes him sob. Purple envelopes him in a hug, nestling Red’s face in the crook of his shoulder to cry on. 

Neither note how long they stay there, Red letting out strings of small whimpers, scared sounds pushed from his chest with each breath. He still shakes and twitches in Purple’s arms, who holds him tight and whispers to him, reverently, “It’s over, it’s ok now. They’re gone, they’re finally gone.”

Red clings to Purple like a lifeline, and he is.


	7. Chapter 7

When Red calms Purple leads him to sit on the counter- beside the sink where he occupied himself earlier- to do what little they can about his wounds. He pretends not to hear the low hiss Red makes when putting pressure on his backside to sit, instead busying himself with finding a washcloth and making the water run warm.  
  
Purple always starts with his face. Red closes his eyes and lets Purple gently press the cloth to his cheeks, one at a time, erasing the tracks left by tears on his dirty skin. Then the back of his head, which was usually laid on some grimy floor or surface; neck, careful of friction burns or choking bruises; shoulders, full of bite marks and lust bruises…  
  
Red keeps his eyes closed as Purple moves on, finally able to relax somewhat into the warmth and kind touch. They share a few minutes of quiet peace.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Purple doesn’t pause, “What are you talking about?”  
  
“You had to eat me out after they all…” Neither take up the job of finishing the sentence.  
  
Purple is suddenly aware of the odd metallic aftertaste still strong on his tongue, but his face doesn’t betray the thought. He moves on to cleaning Red’s battered chest, careful of both old scabs and new still-bloody cuts.  
  
“Don’t be stupid, none of this is your fault.” His voice is gentle, admonishing.  
  
Red is grateful for Purple’s persistent nonchalance, how he speaks as though they were simply bantering on the bridge of the Massive.  
  
By now Red has learned to savor even the smallest of victories: Enduring an assault silently and stoically, the opportunity to sleep on a bed, the simple defiant act of staying alive. But Red considers the greatest feat of resilience to be the state of the only constant left in he and Purple’s lives; their bond, fraternity, that which couldn’t be stripped away by even the most brutal of acts. In fact, their captors had only served to strengthen it. Therein housed the last of Red’s resolve.  
  
Red was never more grateful to have a partner consistently by his side, to have an equal, to have Purple. He doesn’t say this, and doesn’t need to. Instead he leans forward to rest his head on Purple’s shoulder once more, so his brother can more easily wipe the past days grime from his skin, gently following the curves of his PAK.

 

* * *

  
Slowly they work through the ordeal of cleaning Red’s crotch and thighs- Purple gingerly wiping the filth from his wounds until Red hisses out ‘stop.’ He takes the time to compose himself while Purple thoroughly rinses out the cloth. Not once does Purple become frustrated with his brother- instead gently stroking Red’s antennae or encouraging him to drink water from cupped hands, patiently waiting for Red to mutter ‘ok’ and resume.  
  
Red hides his eyes beneath a forearm when Purple must attempt to clean inside him. He can only endure two passes of the cloth before sobbing, and grabbing Purple’s wrist to push it away. Eventually both Purple and the pain convince him to sit in the wide basin of a sink, a ridiculous sight with his spindly legs hanging over the counter. Purple stands alongside to support his back and hold his hands while a steady stream of water washes over his crotch, rinsing away the blood and grime and cum. Even this still borders on unbearable for him- Red grimacing and hissing in pain, gripping his brother’s hands tight.  
  
Meanwhile over and over, almost to himself, Purple murmurs “It’s ok, you’re doing good. Just a little longer, it’s alright...” all in a distinctly concerned voice Red was once annoyed by, but had come to find endearing and soothing as they grew together. Purple trying to distract him remained the only time Red ever appreciated platitudes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Therein’ is such a pretentious word to type, but I love how it sounds. I don’t even know if I used it right but… whomst cares?


	8. Chapter 8

Set in the same corner Purple occupied before, Red sits leaning against the wall. He’s wrapped in a towel found among the hunting gear and supplies, with another folded below him to cushion his sore body.

He watches his brother diligently set to cleaning up after him, starting with the large sturdy table. Purple wrings the wet cloth out over the center, splashing a puddle of warm water over the previous messes, and easily wipes every corner with his great reach. Red watches him, sleepily entranced by the elegant curve of his back, the sweeping of his arms, the way his chin is still held high as he stoops over. At least one of them still somewhat upheld the regal image of a Tallest- tattered clothing and forced labor aside.

“When did you get so good at cleaning?”

Purple starts a moment, he thought Red had dozed off. 

“I had to pick it up fast, or they would’ve beat me half to death.” He turns the towel in his hands, then kneels to wipe the chairs “Well, they would have beat you half to death.”

A smile pulls at the corners of Red’s mouth. 

“At least some good is coming from all this, then.”

Purple shakes his head, grinning himself, and moves to the next chair.


End file.
